Page 24 of Clean Point

‘Scottie – leave it alone,’ he said, swatting my hand away. ‘It’s not like you can do anything about it!’ His brows furrowed in anger, lips pressing together as he rolled off the ground to sit up. His face was red and flustered, the mask of anger slipping for a moment.

‘I’m trying to help,’ I reassured, but Nico withdrew further as he attempted to stand, hissing in pain with each breathless attempt. He tried to shake me off as I pulled him by the shoulder, attempting to ignore how the firm muscle felt under my fingertips. His chest heaved with every painful breath, and the sheen of sweat on his forehead accentuated his rugged features.

‘I don’t need it.’ His gaze connected with mine as he stood, anger radiating from his body. He shook my hand from his arm and brushed past me, slowly making his way to the side of the court. He limped away, favouring his left leg. My frustration boiled up again, spilling out as I stormed the short distance between us.

‘Hey. We need to be a team, so if there’s something up with your knee you’ve got to be honest with me.’

‘What? You mean apart from it being fucked?’ He laughed as he reached the bench. He stood for a moment, attention stuck on one of the stray cats that had been watching us play from the bench. Quietly he shooed it, flapping his hands while still keeping some distance from the cute animal. The feline stared intently, head tilted as if trying to understand what this buffoon was doing, before giving up its position and striding away. Nico almost fell to the bench as he pulled out a towel and threw it over his head as if to hide. Closing the distance, I pulled the towel off him, forcing him to look up at me.

He did not look any less mad.

‘Yes,’ I continued. ‘Like if there’s anything I can help you with. If you need somebody to stretch with. You can’t snip at me because I’m checking to see if you’re hurt.’ I held the towel in between two fingers, keeping it away from him. I didn’t need to touch Nico’s sweat towel any more than necessary.

He looked away, grinning as if I’d humoured him, one arm holding onto his uninjured knee, propping him up. ‘I’m not sure why you’re even here. You were pretty adamant about not wanting to come back to tennis. I only trust you’ll stay clean because of Jon. And even then, what does he know?’

His words did exactly what he had meant to do – hurt. The unhealed wound within me stung with his accusation. I was on the brink of snapping back, tempted to call him an old man and remind him of how far past his prime he was. But instead, I swallowed down my retort.

‘He knows me, you ass. I won’t do it.’ I crossed my arms, standing strong against him.

‘You did it before,’ he added, but his attention was distracted, pain etched across his face as his fingers worked along the top of his right leg, massaging along and causing him further ache.

‘Are you going to throw that in my face every time we fight?’

‘Are you going to keep being an annoying pain in my ass?’ He tried to make the words snarky, but they escaped him in a pained gasp. I couldn’t take it anymore, dropping down to my knees in front of him, the court’s surface warm under my bare skin after being baked by the morning sun.

‘If it means otherwise, we lose, then yes.’

‘Well, ditto.’ He laughed again. Before he realized, I’d closed the space between us. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Can I try something with your knee?’ I asked, but he only eyed me suspiciously. Nico’s piercing gaze bore into mine, his darkened eyes reflecting a mix of scepticism and vulnerability. ‘I had a similar injury a few years ago. Of course, I had youth on my side.’ He scoffed, but I ignored him, pressing on. ‘But I remember the massage technique. Maybe I could help?’

Maintaining our eye contact, his reluctance to let me touch him was evident in his flickering gaze. He tried to sit up straight, putting too much weight on the bad leg and letting out another small groan of pain.

I bit my lip, pressing once more. ‘Please, Nico. Let me try.’ I realized I was begging, but it was so clear he didn’t have any trust in me. Without it, there was no chance we’d survive the competition.

His gaze met mine, and apprehensively, he nodded. Smiling at the acceptance, I began to very gently press my fingers to his knee, my eyes trailing the length of the scar across it. I tried to apply soothing pressure to his knee joint, my fingertips gliding across the healed skin. The tennis court’s uneven surface was unforgiving beneath my skin, but I ignored it, trying to focus on the massage. He flinched at the contact, and I looked up at him, frightened I’d further hurt him.

‘Sorry,’ he croaked before clearing his throat. His eyes were glassy, and I realized this might be the rawest version of Nico I’d seen. ‘Keep going, I’ll try not to move.’

‘Tell me if you need me to stop,’ I instructed, waiting for him to nod before I continued.

I tried again with slow, deliberate strokes, gradually working their way around the knee, as I pressed in with a sweeping movement. His leg moved, stretching out and relaxing, giving me better access to continue. With that, I grew bolder, increasing the pressure as I worked around his knee.

A quick glance up at him and I found him slack-jawed, eyes shut and relaxed. He looked peaceful, and with a smug smile, it was all the confirmation I needed to know I’d given him a bit of relief.

Continuing my work, my fingers massaged and kneaded when without any warning, he let out what at first sounded like a groan. The noise was throaty and deep, a low, guttural growl that resonated from deep within his chest. Nico’s well-defined jaw clenched and unclenched with each noise, his hands flexing absentmindedly as he relaxed into my touch. My fingers paused as I lost all track of what I was doing, my mind scrambled from the moan.

He jerked upright, his knee recoiling from my touch. Looking up, I found his face was burning a deep scarlet, his wide-eyed panic contrasting with his previous calm. He cleared his throat, his words wavering in pitch.

‘Th-thank you,’ he stammered. ‘It’s better now. I’ll see you at lunch.’ The words tumbled out abruptly as he leapt up, acting like nothing had ever been wrong. He tossed his equipment bag over his shoulder, and without another word stormed to the exit, leaving me speechless.

My brows were furrowed together in confusion, my throat dry as I tried to process the noise he had made.

He paused midstep, dropped his bag on the floor, and turned back, marching over to where I was still on my knees on the ground. He refused to make eye contact with me as he closed the gap between us, and without so much of another word, his strong arm reached out toward my head.

I jerked backward, not sure what his intention was, but instead he grabbed the navy cap from the top of my head.

‘This is mine,’ he grumbled. Nico took the hat and placed it unceremoniously on top of his own head. Then he was gone, walking around the stray cat that had decided to take up a sunbathing position in his path. I was left on the floor, hair a complete mess from the hat thievery, his moan still replaying in my mind.

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